


Technicolor Beat

by Bounteous



Series: Oh, How Often I Wonder [3]
Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Afterlife, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Reunions, bro i felt like i wrote five pages and it was barely two, look i dont know how to tag this, lots of description of color, they are dead and thats sad but they are together and thats nice, this was hard, title is an Oh Wonder song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bounteous/pseuds/Bounteous
Summary: In which both Ash and Eiji die—the bliss they feel in their final moments.
Relationships: Ash Lynx/Okumura Eiji
Series: Oh, How Often I Wonder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2193408
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Technicolor Beat

Why is the afterlife always depicted as white? Eiji has descended unto a burst of color broader than any spectrum possible for the human eye. Golden hues like sunsets and sunrises. Cool blues of oceans or skies. Vast expanses of fiery reds and deep purples and sparkling greens. If humans knew this is what awaited them, would they bother living their lives to the fullest? 

Eiji still would. This place is unbelievable; a mystical, wondrous, illusory sight for two bland eyes. If he had his camera, he would snap a thousand pictures and not a single one of them would ever fully capture the essence as perfectly as he would like. He’s not sure people would believe the picture was real.

He is still alone. 

Chimerical in its element and a nirvana only creative geniuses could dare to dream of, it is also an isolation never before felt. All connections of his former life have severed. All relationships ripped away. He cannot reach the ones he left behind. 

He is as amazed as he is morose when his teardrops turn to crystals. He blinks them away and they float like tiny chandeliers around him. Each gentle spin emits glittering canopies of light and brilliance. It is a spectacle he cannot enjoy. 

When he walks, his footsteps trail like glowing, effervescent outlines. His fingers pick up a ball of rainbow that thins to wisps when he crushes it in a fist. Each time he blinks, the scenery changes. Where once was blue is now green, purple, deep burgundy, hot pink. How many times must he blink to see the color he desires most?

Physically, there is nothing to feel. When he falls back and a swirl of prismatic light oozes over him like paint, there is only airy lightness within his limbs. He looks down. Panics. His wound. It fills like a divet under the duress of rain. Pulses like an erupting volcano. Bleeds a strange glow. As if the red had turned neon; a white shirt under UV light. 

A hand of the same substance, ethereal and celestial, reaches out. He grabs hold. Warmth. Structural. Something grounding and solid and tangible. Eiji follows the curve and bend. Melts under the heady stare of gossamer jade. A color as inconsistent as the ballerina’s pirouette around them. 

Ash detonates with a spray of blood, wheat, ocean spray, and concrete. An abstract landscape or a Picasso painting. He is flying and swimming all at once. Stationary. A car in neutral. It’s jarring, nearly blinding for a world of gray to suddenly be turned into nightclubs or Times Square. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much theoretical joy. Symbolism in its simplest form. 

Each movement is like an aftershock. A film in slow motion. As if his body is buffering in real time. But the effect is magnificent. He floats there, suspended in time and space, waving his arm back and forth, mesmerized. Draws his name with his finger. 

Spins his body in a barrel roll when he notices the thread of svelte, papery xanthous tangled about him. Touches it. Feels nothing. Watches it dissipate into nothing. Investigates the origins. Struggles to comprehend how a knife to his gut could be so beautiful. When he trails a finger around the opening, his finger comes away glittering like spun gold. 

He is looking for someone. 

An important someone.

Someone awash with that same joy, filling his gaps and edges and holes with color. Someone who paints him with delicacy and affection. Love. So he isn’t a walking disaster of black or white or gray. Or red.

Ash flies through an array of flowers or butterflies or art galleries or a delectable palate. Nothingness closes in. Squeezes and crushes and tightens though, physically, he is at his zenith. How could a place so full feel so empty?

There is a discrepancy in the plains below him. An upset of equilibrium. 

Brown warmth shoots through him. Encases him. He sails downward; a roller coaster in falling action. Reaches with a solid, marble, diaphanous hand. 

When they hug, they become the sun. Nothing shines brighter than their desire finally achieved. They are awash in love. Love isn’t defined by colors. Or definitions or staples or gifts. 

Faces throw them flowers through cries and hopeful sentiments. Far down below, survivors wish them well. Look up through shielded eyes, through hands shading the rain suddenly clearing way to daylight. Smile because the signs are there and they know their boys will be okay.

Up above, others patiently await. With overalls, similar features, and purple hair. They wave and cheer and look on in fondness because, while the ending is quite what they’d hope for, the contentment is thick and ripe. 

Ash and Eiji kiss with mouthfuls of warm hues. Bathe themselves in comfort and relief and a blend of heartbeats. There is no end or beginning to Eiji or Ash. They are one of sublime ascendancy and divine iridescence. Once divided and now never to part again.

**Author's Note:**

> Support my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing! https://ko-fi.com/bounteous


End file.
